


An Ode To Yellow Chrysanthemums

by Katfish_1967



Category: Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, hanahaki disease au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 22:08:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14198685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katfish_1967/pseuds/Katfish_1967
Summary: Switzerland is in love with Austria. Austria has just married the love of his life, Hungary. Where does this leave Switzerland?





	An Ode To Yellow Chrysanthemums

An Ode To Yellow Chrysanthemums 

The first time it happened was the 8th of June, 1867. Basch was sitting at home, reading and trying to ignore what was happening in the outside world when Austria stumbled into his house, high off of his happiness, arms clasped firmly around Erzsébet. 

Switzerland felt a tickling in his throat that wouldn’t cease, no matter how many times he cleared his throat. He excused himself eventually and was heading towards the bathroom when coughing fit took over. He bent over as his body shook with each cough. He felt something dislodge in his throat and the fit passed.

Basch looked down at the floor and recoiled in shock at what he saw. At his feet was a horrific mixture of blood and yellow chrysanthemums. He was sure they meant something, all flowers did, but he couldn’t recall what. Basch resigned himself to asking Francis the next time he showed up unexpectedly.

He grabbed some cloth and cleaned up the bloody wood. He vowed that he would not tell anyone about this. He’d ask Francis what the meaning of yellow chrysanthemums were and that would be the end of it. If he ignores it, it will go away.

That was his first mistake.

//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\

He found out what was wrong in 1942.

After that day in 1867 Switzerland completely blanked Austria. The pain of losing one of his only friends brought a fresh wave of chrysanthemums but it was for the best. He found out from France that if they’re yellow they mean unrequited love, so he distanced himself. He acted like he wasn’t choking on flowers every time Austria and Hungary so much as looked at each other with those loved filled glances they were so fond of.

If Switzerland managed to make it through this war without being destroyed for being neutral he would get them removed. He found out that’s something they can do now. They surgically remove the flowers growing in your lungs and all feelings of love you had for the person that caused it. It even had a name, the Hanahaki disease.

Basch decided he could wait what he figured would be a few months at most. This war wouldn’t last that long.

This was his second mistake.

//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\

It took three years for the war to end and now you could clearly tell that he wasn’t healthy. He was constantly covered in a light sheen of sweat and he was pasty and pale all the time. The coughing was getting more frequent and his ability to breathe was limited to shallow and uncomfortable breathes. 

The other nations had realised that something wasn’t right with him. France looked on knowingly, finally understanding why he asked about yellow chrysanthemums all those years ago. Austria looked like he wanted to go to him, to ask him what’s wrong, but decided against it as they no longer spoke. Prussia watched with something akin to understanding, having felt the same for Hungary but never to this extent, and Germany, well Ludwig looked like this worry was killing him. Basch wanted to tell them he’s alright but speaking was getting more and more taxing everyday.

Liechtenstein no longer allowed him to leave the house unless the netting was vital. She would to lesser meetings in his place.

The flowers had changed too. No longer were they the glaringly bright yellow chrysanthemums, cheerful colour mocking him with their unpleasant meaning. Now marigolds haunted him. Sometimes accompanied by monks hood. He found a book in England’s library on Victorian flower language and looked up their meanings. He would’ve laughed at the irony of them had been well enough to do so.

Marigolds meant despair and grief over the loss of love. Monks hood meant a deadly foe was near. 

The more he put off the surgery the less he wanted it. Did he really want to remove all feelings for Austria? He didn’t understand how something so warm could be so deadly. He didn’t want to lose a feeling he may never regain. He would rather die than have his emotions be stripped away when he looks at Austria. He decided he would let the flowers consume him until they wrapped their deadly thorns around his neck and squeezed.

This was his final mistake.

//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\

Basch should be dead. He shouldn’t feel the slight breeze that blew threw his room. He shouldn’t feel like his entire body is made of lead. He should be dead but he isn’t.

His eyelids feel like they’re stuck together and it takes all of his little reserves of energy to pry them open. The room sounds like the waters of Lake Geneva are slamming everywhere at once and the ringing in his head is increasing. 

He feels a weight on his hand. A pleasant weight. It’s too heavy to be his sister’s and too rough to be Austria or France’s. His eyes focus finally, the light no longer amplifying the ringing in his head.

He notices a certain blonde hunched in a chair, his hair falling carelessly on his face as he gripped Basch’s hand tight, as if Basch would disappear if he let go.

Days came and went and the German never left his side. He engaged him in conversation and debates and he caught his interest with literature and fairytales. It was almost enough to make him forget what he had lost on the journey to get to this point.

More days passed, nations coming to check up on him or to make sure Germany was eating.

Austria visited once, and Switzerland felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. No flutters or warmth. Just blankness and mild recognition. Ludwig saw that it saddened him and suggested that maybe Roderich shouldn’t visit again. It was for the best.

While he sat in the crisp white bed, Basch had time to think. He thought about his history with Austria and how it all meant nothing now. He thought about how Ludwig refused to leave his side while he’s been in hospital. He thought about Liechtenstein and France. He thought about Prussia and his sympathetic understanding. He thought about the war. He thought about the rocky peace that followed. He thought about hate.

He thought about love.

Basch thought that losing his love for Roderich would kill him, when in actuality it was the only thing that saved him.

Or was it?

Was Basch losing his love for Roderich what saved him or was it the love of another nation that made him realise that they’re are more people out there than Roderich. Maybe it wasn’t a lost love but an uptight German who saved him. Maybe the love wasn’t lost, just transferred.

Maybe.

But who knew?


End file.
